


Live and let live

by allollipoppins



Series: Keeping up with the Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Insecure Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Most characters are mentioned save for Victor and John, Self-Indulgent, Wedding Planning, ooc-ish characters, started as crack then turned out to be serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 11:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13386567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allollipoppins/pseuds/allollipoppins
Summary: “It’s probably not my place to ask but,” Victor leaned in conspirationally, “is it true that Sherlock keeps human heads in the fridge?”“Heads, hands, feet, name it all. We’ve had everything go through the flat.”Victor blanched. “And, and you’re fine with that?”***Victor confides his doubts with John about joining the family. Set pre-Reichenbach.





	Live and let live

**Author's Note:**

> Wow guys. Just wow, I can't believe the response I got on the previous installments, thank you guys so freaking much! I had only meant for "The other one" to be a self-indulgent, kida crack-ish os to get my mind off exams and would you look at that... I'm so insanely grateful to you all.
> 
> Here Yuuri and Sherlock sadly don't appear, though they are mentioned. Again this is from John's pov. It can be read as a stand-alone just as it can be read as the follow-up to "The other one."
> 
> This work was unbeta'ed and written by a non native English speaker. I own neither Yuri on Ice nor BBC Sherlock.

When John finally got around to meeting Victor Nikiforov, it came to him that maybe – just maybe, he himself couldn’t be a hundred percent sure of that one – the Holmes brothers had a type.

 

John, whilst a good head shorter than most of the family (he was secretly pleased that Yuuri and he were the same height) and not gifted with the Holmes’ almost unearthly looks, considered himself to be quite handsome, thank you very much. Somehow the London air and his constant running with Sherlock had been good to him all those years since he returned from Afghanistan. His skin had progressively lost its tan and his hair had dropped at least two shades, but Sherlock didn’t love him any less for that.

 

And then there was Victor Nikiforov. Or Just Victor, as he had introduced himself on the first week at the Holmes residence, flashing him a portfolio-worthy smile. He was taller than him – that wasn’t too hard to achieve –, as expected of an Olympian athlete. With platinum hair so pale it appeared almost silver, and dark blue eyes. If it hadn’t been for the very obvious Russian accent and features, he could have easily passed for his brother. His much younger brother.

 

John couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious when they stood next to each other; like putting the ugly duckling with a swan. If memory served him well, Victor also modelled for several sports brands he couldn’t remember the name of, had his own designer watch specially made for him, and was the ambassador of a Russian coffee brand that was about the Eastern equivalent of Nespresso. Overall, his very existence made his St Bart’s diploma and military experience look like a cheap stint.

 

(Last but not least Mycroft – _Mycroft_ , of all people – was apparently seeing Lady Smallwood in and out of work. Go figure. The eldest Holmes sibling, naturally, was either too stubborn or too dense to even acknowledge it. The esteemed dame had never paid them a visit, but he figured no one would really want to run into them after being repeatedly accused of corrupting national security. John still felt the need to add her in the equation though – he would also be tempted to add “attracted to power” and “cool beauty” to the Holmes’ standard, but he supposed that if it were to include him, there was no way it possibly stand.)

 

That didn’t stop John from noticing the subtle discomfort in Victor’s behaviour – if anyone else had noticed, they were nice enough not to mention it. He didn’t need Sherlock’s gift for deduction to tell Victor’s smile bordered the edge of polite and awkward more often than not.

Poor guy looked completely out of place, standing too tall in the cramped rooms and spaces, feeling a tad too big for the house to contain him. Most of the time John saw him, he was shuffling on his feet, close to burning holes in the carpet, or was trailing not far away from Yuuri. It was quite comical, to watch him hover by his fiancé’s side like a duckling walking after its mother, and beam when Yuuri looked at him. He especially seemed to brighten up when Yuuri referred to him as “my fiancé” or “my future husband”. In those moments John could clearly visualize a tail wagging behind his back. Good for him.

 

The point being that he hardly ever found Victor alone with someone that wasn’t Yuuri or Mummy and Daddy Holmes. Which made it all the more surprising when one afternoon Victor hesitantly approached him in the living room, a small smile crossing his lips. The house was bumbling with preparatives, the Holmes throwing all their energy into organizing the perfect wedding for their youngest son and his foreign beau. Said man, however, had taken a break from discussing cake flavours and flower arrangements. Victor had to be the most excited and extravagant when it came to even the smallest of details, so find him out of his element was rather strange, at the very least.

 

“Sorry if I’m intruding, but Mummy won’t even let me anywhere near the kitchen.” Victor laughed. “I mean, I know I’m not a chef, but I’m not that bad either.”

 

John answered with a chuckle of his own. “Don’t worry about that. And you shouldn’t take it personally. If I were her I wouldn’t let anyone inside that kitchen either. Someone did have to raise Mycroft and Sherlock, you know, can’t be easy keeping their experiments in check 24/7.”

 

Victor’s eyes widened in understanding, before he nodded. “So that’s why Yuuri is the only one allowed in when she cooks… alright.”

 

“It’s probably not my place to ask but,” Victor leaned in conspirationally, “is it true that Sherlock keeps human heads in the fridge?”

 

“Heads, hands, feet, name it all. We’ve had everything go through the flat.”

 

Victor blanched. “And, and you’re fine with that?” he tried not to stutter.

 

John considered his answer for a while before deciding to answer. ““Fine” is a bit of a euphemism. It took me a while before I could get used to it. Now Sherlock knows better than to leave decomposing body parts next to food or to not keep them in a box in the fridge.”

 

Victor huffed in disbelief, leaning back against his seat. His face looked far paler than it usually did, if that was even possible. John winced, realizing he probably had let him on too much.

 

“Timing?” he supplied as softly as he could.

 

Victor looked back at him, shaking his head. “No no, don’t worry about that. I’m just… well… bit shocked honestly.” He chuckled, the sound feeling a little forced coming out of his mouth. “I’m still trying to figure everything out you know? Get used to this, wrap my head around all that is happening.”

 

“This?” John asked, curious.

 

Victor made a sweeping hand motion as if to designate everything that surrounded them. “This. Everything. England, London in general, the family, the wedding preparatives...”

 

“Wait,” John stopped him. “You’re not… starting to regret this, are you?”

 

Victor jumped back, his eyes open wide in horror. “What? God no!” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, messing the strands that fell over his left eye. With the locks dishevelled as they were, he appeared even more tired to John that he was. “I would never… heavens no, I’m sorry you should think that, I didn’t mean to give you that impression.”

 

“I just,” he paused, visually struggling to find his words; John patiently waited for him to find his words. “I just don’t know how you do it.”

 

John frowned. “Do what?”

 

“To be liked by them. To be loved by them.” Victor sighed, clearly frustrated with the whole situation. “Mummy and Daddy adore you, Sherlock – well, he is besotted with you, so I might be biased with that part – and Mycroft barely bothers with sarcastic comments when you’re in the room.” He huffed, half-amused. “You don’t even flinch in the face of Mycroft Holmes, how do you even do that? I don’t get so much as a grunt of acknowledgement on a good day. I’m only allowed here because I’m tolerable.”

 

Oh. John’s face softened when he realized what the issue was actually about. His heart gave a pang in the face of the younger man, who truly looked conflicted. “Now now,” he uttered, “don’t be so hard on yourself.”

 

Victor snorted, however not impolitely so. “You don’t understand, John. I’m not even kidding. I seriously am an idiot.”

 

“I know who you are, John. I’ve read the blog. That was the only way I could get to know about Sherlock before I got to meet him, aside from talking with Yuuri. That man – no offence John,” he cut in concern, John simply nodding for him to continue, “that man has to be the most intimidating person I have ever met. And I’m getting married to his brother.” Victor laughed, a tinge of fondness in his tone that made John smile a little in turn.

 

“I remember the first day I met him. It was after a competition actually, in Barcelona. Yuuri hadn’t been able to make it but oh, I knew. The moment I saw him in the VIP section I knew it was Sherlock Holmes standing right in front of me.

 

“And what did he say?”

 

“The gist of it… basically, that in the circumstance that I hurt Yuuri, I should prepare myself to suffer the consequences of my actions.”

 

“Because he would kill you.” John said. Not a question, merely a statement. The “or worse” went unmentioned.

 

Victor nodded. “Da. That is, if Yuuri hadn’t already killed me himself.”

 

John gulped slightly.

 

“I know, hard to tell, but you have to see it to believe it. And Mycroft – Mycroft met me in the deserted parking lot behind the ice rink I practice at in Saint Petersburg, and threatened to make me a pariah to my own country. In perfect Russian, mind you. Most days I can’t even speak English to save my life.”

 

Victor shrugged. “On that one hand I can’t blame them, really. If I had siblings I think I would act the same way as they do. My rink-mates back in Saint Petersburg were the closest thing I had to a family, and sometimes I’d treat them like that.”

 

“Were?”

 

Victor’s smile spread wider, sincere and actually reaching his eyes. “I have Yuuri now. They are still important to me of course, but Yuuri… Yuuri is different.”

 

“You know that feeling you get sometimes, when he is out there doing what he was born to do, and you’re just left to stand on the sidelines and think: “What the hell did I ever do to deserve him?” Well, that’s how I feel most of the time.”

 

John had to swallow back his breath, his voice coming out raspy the next time he spoke. “I know that feeling.” John placed his hand on his knee, squeezing gently. “It never does stop, but most of the time it doesn’t matter.”

 

Victor raised his head in his direction, looking at him directly. John could see the tears, unshed but pearling in his eyes. “You think so?”

 

“I know so,” he assured him. “It took me ages before I could finally get it inside my thick skull that Sherlock didn’t just keep me around as a guinea pig or someone to impress on a regular basis. And sometimes I still catch myself having dark thoughts about that, telling myself that it’s not going to last, that it’s just a lie, even when I know the voices in my head are wrong. It hurts but it doesn’t have to matter. Everything else is just background noise as long as it’s the two of you against the rest of the world.”

 

Victor laughed, caught between a sob and a hysterical cough. “You make it sound so easy.”

 

John shook his head. “It’s not. That’s relationships to you. I take it it’s your first serious relationship?” He enquired gently.

 

Victor nodded. “First everything, truly. Like I had been kept locked in cage this whole time, made to stand on my pedestal, high and mighty, until someone snatched my chains and smashed open the door for me to escape. And now I’m free.” The corners of his mouth tugged up a little. “I’m still figuring how to breathe, but Yuuri helps a lot. He makes it look effortless most of the time.”

 

For a while John didn’t dare to speak, letting silence fall between them. When he did decide to breach it, he couldn’t find it in him to raise his voice. “Do you love him?”

 

Victor didn’t hesitate in his answer. “More than anything.”

 

“Enough that you would go all the way over a cliff for him?”

 

There wasn’t a single tremor in Victor’s voice when he spoke again, not thinking twice about his answer. “I would die for him if he asked. And I know he would do the same for me.”

 

John nodded, satisfied with his answer. “Then I daresay you’ll be alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have another part in the works, a 4/5 + 1 Yuuri-centric and Victuuri-oriented piece focusing on the qualities that make Yuuri a Holmes in spite of the unlikelihood of him possibly being one.
> 
> Kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated :)  
> I'm @AriL10N355 on twitter and @allollipoppins on tumblr. Hmu!


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